


404 Loneliness Not Found

by SushiOwl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Babies, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Omega Peter Hale, Omega Stiles Stilinski, so much sass, they tryin' to get preggos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 09:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SushiOwl/pseuds/SushiOwl
Summary: The one in which Stiles and Peter are independent omegas that don't need no alphas and meet at a fertility clinic. They both want babies, for separate but very similar reasons, they find. And they may not need anyone, but it's nice to have someone around.





	404 Loneliness Not Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mysenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysenia/gifts).



> A really, really, really late Steter Secret Santa gift for Mysenia, one of the most awesome people ever. <3 We'll just call it a SCAW gift because Mys is the best and deserves it.

Peter was a snob; he knew that. But even the most open-minded person would be gagging at the magazine in his hands. _ The Joy of Parenthood _ was its title. How this publication could market morning sickness, swelling ankles, and pants with elastic bands as a joy, he did not know. But there was nothing else to read in this place. He didn't want to pull out his phone to messages of his family asking where he was anyway.

It would have been easier to focus on the magazine, as droll as it was if the guy next to him wasn't so distracting. His knee, specifically, because it was jigging up and down like he had a muscle spasm condition. Finally, Peter looked at him--young, kind of cute, chewing his hoodie string to death--to give him a reproachful look. It turned out to be a mistake because the guy took it as an invitation to open his mouth and start to babble.

"Man, this place is weird, right?" the guy started, and he did not wait for a response before he continued. "I mean, it smells way too clean, like a hospital, right? But you'd think a place that puts babies in people wouldn't smell like a hospital. Because hospitals make people anxious. Do they make you anxious? They make me anxious. I hate hospitals." He finally stopped to take a breath.

Peter nodded, the barest acquiesce before he went back to his magazine. 

"I would totally not have come here if I had a stupid alpha to put a baby in me, but no, it has come to this," the guy went on, apparently uncaring that he'd gone unprompted. "I just need to have a baby, y'know? Before--before--my dad--he has heart problems. He's been getting worse as of late. He even had to retire from his job--a job he loved. And if he dies before he gets to hold a grandbaby, that would kill him... emotionally, I mean."

How was this guy still talking? Though his motivation was interesting, Peter had to admit. Peter's own was infinitely more selfish, but then that was to be expected of him by anyone that knew him. He wanted a child of his own to carry on his part of the Hale line, and he had yet to find an alpha that was worth more than a heat fuck. He was running out of eggs... and time.

And, perhaps he could admit, in private, that he wanted a child because he wanted someone, however small and squalling, to give all his attention. His nieces and nephews were too old to fill with sugar and release onto the world now. He was a good uncle, and he would be a good parent. That was what he kept telling himself to believe.

"I can't imagine being the only one left," the guy was saying, perhaps talking more to himself than Peter. "If my dad dies... I want more family to love because he's all I have."

That... was sad. Peter tried to find some words to give in the face of such an admission.

"Mr Stilinski?" a nurse in Hello Kitty scrubs called out.

The guy jolted out of his chair like he'd been struck by electricity. "Ah, me, that's me," he said, going over to the nurse without even a look back at Peter. 

Just as well, Peter figured as he leaned back and waited for his name to be called as well. Stilinski was an interesting name, however, and unique enough for him to place it once he realized who it also belonged to. The previous sheriff of Beacon Hills. He remembered his sister dragging him to vote for the man, otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered at all.

"Mr Hale?" a nurse with Tweety Bird scrubs called, and he set aside the magazine before standing. Time to get his cervix scraped.

 

* * *

 

Peter didn't like eating in public, however, it would be more embarrassing if his stomach growled while he was talking to his doctor. So here he was, a plastic container of granola bites and strawberry slices in his lap. He had his Kindle this time because hindsight is 20/20. It was difficult for him to concentrate though, because the guy, Stilinski, was sitting next to him again. His leg was bouncing, and he was chewing his nails to nubs. Sighing softly, Peter looked at him, before he just offered the container of snacks.

Stilinski stared at it in silent, still surprise, because he let out a bubbly laugh. He grabbed a granola bite and popped it into his mouth. "Thanks," he said while chewing.

Peter could probably forgive that. "Not talkative today, I take it?" 

Stilinski shook his head. "I guess my nervous energy is turned inward today." He gave a soft sigh. "I'm worried." He looked at the bowl again, before he grabbed another crunchy bite when Peter nudged it toward him.

"About?" Peter asked.

"The results of my tests," Stilinski said after chewing and swallowing. He took another bite when it was offered, but didn't immediately eat it, instead rolling it between his fingers. "I--um--I think I might have low fertility."

"Why would you think that?" Peter asked, a small crease forming between his brows.

"My mom had a lot of trouble getting pregnant," Stilinski said, looking down and off to the side. "She and my dad had to try for a few years and go through lots of treatments to have me."

"Was your mother an omega?" Peter asked, feeling as though he needed to.

Stilinski's eyes snapped to his. "No, a beta."

"Well, trouble conceiving for a beta isn't unheard-of. But you and I are omegas. We are, as they call us, baby makers. You're young. You shouldn't worry. You have plenty of time to make a child," Peter told him easily. "I'm the one who should worry." He did, privately.

Stilinski tipped his head, which was kind of cute. "What? Why? You're young too."

Peter snorted. "I'm forty-two."

Stilinski's eyes popped wide in surprise. "Nuh-uh!" That was a little loud, but he didn't seem to care.

"I only look young." He put out his hand. "Peter Hale."

"Ooooh, you're a werewolf, aren't you?" Stilinski asked, shaking Peter's hand. He grinned when Peter nodded. "I'm Stiles Stilinski."

"Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Stiles said with a sweet smile. "So, can I ask a very dumb question?"

"Yes?"

Stiles took a deep breath. "Is a baby werewolf called a puppy?" he asked with a deeply serious expression.

Peter released a surprised bark of laughter before he covered his mouth as other people in the waiting room looked over. He let out a much softer snicker. "No, not unless it's an insult. Generally 'pup' or 'cub.' I know my sister still calls her children her pups."

"Aww, that's cute. Is that was you're going to do?"

Peter honestly did not know.

 

* * *

 

"Have you thought about baby names?" Stiles asked very suddenly their next visit.

Peter had yet to question how they kept arriving on the same days. It was probably something simple, such as having the same doctor. Though... Peter's doctor was a werewolf. It honestly didn't matter. He was glad to have the company.

Still, at the question, he gave Stiles a blank stare.

The corner of Stiles's lips twitched up. "I'll take that as a no."

"You would be correct in that assumption," Peter said, voice very bland. He had forbidden himself to think about baby names until he knew he was fertile. His previous round of tests had proven inconclusive, so they were being run again. 

Stiles, of course, was as bursting with potential and could bear a small army of equally hyperactive children if he liked. That was why he was so chatty and happy this time, Peter guessed. He was going to be picking a donor today.

"I've thought of all kinds of names," Stiles said, smiling to himself as he tugged at his hoodie string alternatively, the way one draws a towel back and forth across their back. "There's my parents's names, of course. That was my first thought. But... I think that if I had to call their names after they're both gone..."

"That would be hard for anyone," Peter agreed.

"Yeah, I think that would make me miss them too much, so..." He shrugged. "I always thought Anna was a pretty name? However, anyone says the first A, I like it, y'know?"

Peter gave a nod.

"Then there's Isabel, with Izzy for short. Melody." Stiles looked off into the middle distance. "I think most of the names I have thought up are for girls." He blinked and looked at Peter. "Does that mean I want a girl?"

"I think it does," Peter replied with a smile.

"You know what name I really love?" Stiles asked, grabbing Peter's hand and squeezing it.

It took a long moment for Peter to stop staring at that strong, long-fingered hand and look up. His face felt just a little warm. "What?"

"Freya." Stiles grinned. "I don’t know why. I just really like it."

Peter chuckled a little, trying to make his smile bright. "That sounds perfect."

It was perfect, just a little obscure, just like Stiles.

 

* * *

 

"You know what I really hate?" Stiles asked abruptly, cheek bulging with a snickerdoodle cookie. Laura liked to bake, but she could only make cookies, so she tended to assault her family with boxes full of dozens of cookies. Peter didn't have much of a sweet tooth, but he had guessed that Stiles did, and he was right.

"I'm sure you're about to tell me," Peter said, unfussed.

"Color and gender correlation," Stiles indeed told him. "Like, blue and pink are fine colors or whatever, but you can't just paint a room some color in hopes your kid will like it. I mean, I like blue--my room's blue--but if I paint the kid's room blue, even a baby blue, everyone will think I want a boy."

Peter made a noise of assent.

"But then like, gender-neutral colors are just as bad. Not everybody likes green, and there are no shades of yellow that aren't painful to the eyes."

Peter had to agree. "What about a grey-blue?" he suggested, and Stiles stopped digging into the cookie stash to look at him. "It's neutral enough. You can add pops of color when you actually start decorating for your child." His interior decorator of a brother-in-law would have fainted with joy to hear him talking like that.

Stiles looked delighted. "I love that! Is that what you're going to do?"

Peter thought about it for the first time, before he shrugged. "I have a niece who paints. I think I would ask her to paint the room like a forest a night. Perhaps with the moon in all its phases on the ceiling." He felt that would be a lovely room for a baby werewolf.

There was awe in Stiles's eyes. "With glow in the dark stars too?"

"Psh," was Peter's offended response. "Those tacky plastic ones? Gross."

Stiles's laugh was soft and sweet. "What if your kid wants them?"

"Then they shall have them." Peter could barely tell his nieces and nephew 'no' when they had been young. There was no way he could deny his own kid a thing. "I will just have to endeavor to teach them better taste."

Cookie crumbs sputtered out of Stiles's mouth as he laughed, and it shouldn't have been endearing, but it was. He wiped at his face and the front of his hoodie, closing the half-empty container in his lap. "You're awful," he said with a touch of affection in his tone.

"I know this. Everyone else knows this. You're slow on the uptake," Peter told him, and he got a little shove to his shoulder for it. "So, today is the today?"

"Yup," Stiles said, popping the P. "I'm getting sperminated."

Peter couldn't help his laugh. "What's your donor alpha like?"

"She makes video games, so obviously she's perfect," Stiles replied with a wistful sigh. "She likes to garden too. And to sing. I got to see her baby pictures. She looks like how my mom did when she was young. That's what I wanted." He shrugged.

Not knowing what to say, Peter licked his lips and looked down. He hadn't even looked at the donor books yet. His doctor had offered, but he'd told her he wanted to wait until he knew he could do this at all.

"I'm glad you're getting what you want," he said, and he hoped it wasn't passive-aggressive. That was his default mode, but he really was happy for the guy.

Stiles gave him a kind smile and laid his hand over Peter's, giving it a squeeze. "You'll get what you want too. Just wait and see."

It was good that a nurse came out and called for Stiles then, because Peter's heart was in his throat, and there was no way at all he could say anything to that. Not without crying, and he would rather not cry in public. He blinked away the stinging in his eyes and Stiles walked off. He looked at the container of cookies, then he ate the rest of them to give himself something to do.

Before Stiles came back out, Peter was called back for another round of tests. His doctor seemed optimistic. He was in good health, and werewolves were fertile longer than humans. Abnormal results the first time weren't uncommon. However, she was also realistic. 

"I can always refer you to some excellent adoption agencies, even ones with werewolf children."

He nodded, accepting this possibility. The bond might not be as strong, but it would still be a child of his own.

 

* * *

 

At the next appointment, Stiles was chewing his hoodie strings again. Peter watched him, eyes narrowed. "Y'know," he said, and Stiles looked at him. "I read in one of these magazines--" He held up the one he'd had in his lap since he arrived and still hadn't opened. "--that they have silicone jewelry for teething."

Stiles blinked at him like he wasn't used to other people spouting random info. "Oh, yeah, that'll be good for when the baby comes."

"Yes," Peter agreed. "But I meant for you." He smiled sharply and pulled the hoodie string away from Stiles's lips.

Stiles stared. "Wow, rude."

"Mr Stilinski?" a nurse called.

Actually sticking out his tongue at Peter, Stiles hopped up and went off. Peter actually opened his magazine. He was mostly through a very in-depth article about kale when Stiles came back out. His grin was like the sun, and it was difficult to look at.

"You're pregnant, huh?" Peter asked, trying to keep his voice level. 

"Yeah! Yeah, I am," Stiles told him, sitting down. He still had that face-breaking smile on.

"I'm happy for you, Stiles," Peter told him, managing a smile.

"Mr Hale?" 

Peter looked up, feeling his stomach drop out. Moment of truth. He got up and set the magazine in the chair.

"Hey," Stiles said, catching his sleeve. "Want me to go back with you?" He smiled, almost teasingly. "I'll hold your hand."

Peter gave a small laugh. He had too much pride to accept, though he didn't want to be alone. "No, thank you though."

He followed after the nurse to his doctor's office. "Dr. Singh," he greeted, and she smiled at him as she invited him to sit. She was a kind woman, in her mid-fifties with her long dark hair in a long plait over her shoulder. Her wall was decorated with as many family photos as it was awards and doctorates.

"I'll cut to the chase, Mr Hale," she said. He liked that about her, though it was a sharp, biting thing to hear. She wasn't about to sugar coat the fact that he was barren.

He clenched his hands into fists and nodded.

"You have viable eggs," she said simply.

He stared at her. "Say again?"

Dr Singh gave him a small smile. “I would say that you are able to inseminate immediately. I have an opening next week?” She had her planner in front of her. Peter could easily recognize his own name, even upside down.

Chuckling, he nodded. “Yes, next week is perfect.”

After getting a prescription for prenatals and a list of superfoods for pregnancy--plus a suggestion to up his protein intake by eating a lot more red meat--Peter was given a thin folder of werewolf donor alphas. He needed to pick one within three days to have the sample on hand for his next appointment. Then he walked out, somewhat in a daze, and he was almost startled to see Stiles waiting for him.

Stiles looked up from his phone and grinned brightly at Peter before he hopped up and came right into his personal space. “Well? What’s the word?” he asked, voice low.

Peter just gave him a grin.

“Ohmigawd, grats, man!” Stiles said, much louder before he was suddenly hugging Peter, who was a little too stunned to hug back. Stiles smelled like cinnamon, baby powder and cheap 2-in-1 shampoo and body wash that would have been revolting on anyone else.

Peter wanted to bury himself in Stiles’s stupid red hoodie and never come back out.

But then Stiles was pulling back, hands lingering on Peter’s shoulders a while before they dropped. “So when’s your next appointment?” he asked.

“Next Wednesday at ten,” Peter said before he held up the folder. “I need to pick a donor.”

“Do not envy you there. It took me weeks to pick someone.”

“The sperm pool’s a little smaller when it comes to werewolves,” Peter told him.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed with a shrug. “I’m sure you’ll pick a good donor alpha though.”

“I hope so.”

They didn’t say much after that. Stiles had to go have a late lunch with his friend. Before he could go, Peter pulled him into another hug, hoping to convey that he appreciated Stiles being there for him, even though it was just simple kindness. He breathed in his scent and hoped to remember it, sure this was the last time he would see Stiles.

 

* * *

 

Peter was ready to take back his initial judgment of this magazine. It actually had quite a bit of helpful information. He was reading an article about baby proofing one’s home and taking mental notes when someone dropped into the chair next to him. He glanced up.

“Sorry I’m late,” Stiles said. “Traffic was murder. Also, I got up late, and I totally haven’t eaten yet, so I threw together something sort of like lunch.” He held up a lunch bag covered with Spider-Man in various action poses. “Want some dark chocolate almond bark? I’ve been craving it like crazy. Is it too early to get cravings?” He opened up the bag and pulled out the container.

“You…” Peter tried and failed, so he cleared his throat. “You’re here. Why are you here? Do you have an appointment too? I thought you…?”

Stiles looked at him mid-crunch, before he spoke, mouth full, “I’m here for you.” The shock must have shown on Peter’s face because Stiles swallowed loudly and reached over to take Peter’s hand. “I want to support you. I’m uniquely qualified.”

"As a fellow single bearer to be?" Peter asked with a hollow laugh. He was forever going to think of Stiles when he smelled dark chocolate now, and that was both beauty and tragedy wrapped into one. He wondered if he squeezed Stiles's hand, would he stay for a while longer? 

"As someone who's doing this because they don't want to be lonely either."

Peter swallowed, wondering if Stiles had him pegged from the start or if it took a couple appointments. Did Stiles know his eyes were huge and round? Did Stiles know he had perfectly kissable lips? He finally gave into the urge and tightened his grip on Stiles's hand.

"Mr Hale?" came a nurses's call.

Sucking in a breath, Peter stood up. Stiles stood too, looking at him earnestly. "Now, before you ask if you can come back with me and hold my hand, I don't think I'm ready for you to see me in such a compromising position yet."

Stiles snorted out a little piggy laugh. "Yeah, watching someone get spermed is a post-third date kind of thing, I guess."

"Oh my God," Peter whispered to the ceiling. He swiped his thumb over Stiles's knuckles before he let him go. He was confident that Stiles would still be there when he was done.

 

* * *

 

As cliche as it was, they had their first date at a cafe. Peter had chosen the place, mostly for the fantastic array of pastries and cakes in the display case. He'd wanted to see Stiles's reaction, and what he got was akin to a young boy coming down the stairs on Christmas morning to find a mountain of gifts under the tree. Peter almost wished he'd had his phone out to snap a picture and immortalize the sight.

"It's a tragedy that neither of us can have caffeine again," he lamented with a woeful sigh, having ordered a completely pretentious sparkling water with frozen fruit at the bottom for $4. At least it went well with coffee cake, which was pretending was just real coffee. He was seeing tiramisu in his future.

"Does that even affect you?" Stiles asked, doing a fabulous impression of a hamster hiding a carrot for later, though in this case, the carrot was a half devoured slab of butter cake. Peter had to wonder if it was his affection for Stiles that was preventing him from being disgusted by his manners. 

"Not really, but two cups of coffee in the morning is an adult rite of passage. A requirement, like car insurance." Sometimes he wished caffeine did affect him. Also, alcohol, because there had been some days he'd wanted to drink Talia's wine cellar.

"I'm gonna miss my Monsters if I'm being honest," Stiles told him before he sipped his decaf bubble tea. "They are what got me through college."

"What did you study?" 

"I double majored in computer science and interactive entertainment," Stiles said with an easy shrug like that wasn't just a whole lot of math. Gross. "You?"

"Creative writing and the history of the English language." It had been close to hell. He hated all poetry now.

"Nerd," Stiles accused, nose scrunched up in amusement.

Peter gave an affronted gasp. "You're one to talk. I take it you make video games for a living?"

"It's a lucrative business! Written any books lately?" Stiles quirked a brow up.

"I come from money," Peter said, mostly into his sparkling water, as Stiles laughed like a precious hyena.

They argued over who was allowed the pleasure of paying. There was a bit of swatting and quite a bit of laughing. Peter only managed to win, because he got his card out before Stiles could find his wallet in the disorganized, Lovecraft-like horror of an inside of his messenger bag.

Peter wanted to hold Stiles's hand on the way out to the parking lot before he managed to contain himself by putting his hands in the pockets of his coat. It was February. If the insemination took, he might have a Halloween baby. How very werewolf of him.

They reached Stiles's frankly rickety blue Jeep--would it be too forward to offer to buy him a baby safe minivan--and he was crafting a farewell he didn't want to give in his mind. But then Stiles stopped right in front of him, inches from him, and--oh Stiles was just a hair taller, a touch broader, and why was that so appealing? 

"I'm gonna kiss you now," Stiles told him. Jesus, his eyes were golden in this sunlight.

After fifteen seconds of staring and mental "uuuuuuuuuuh," Peter cleared his throat and straightened up as far as he could. "Well, I'm not going to stop you."

Stiles kissed like he talked. Eager at first, like he had to get his main idea out quickly before someone told him to stop, then slower, gentler when he wasn't rejected. Peter put his hands on Stiles's hips and tipped his head to the side, tasting and treasuring this moment. It was perfect. Peter didn't even like tea, but if Stiles's mouth tasted like it when they kissed, then he would endeavor to swiftly learn to love it.

 

* * *

 

The babies were born minutes from each other, which Peter's nephew would have all sorts of opinions about when it came to synchronization, souls aligning and the pull of the moon. Peter would have told Derek to stop smoking aconite laced weed if he wasn't much easier to deal with when he was just a bit stoned.

They were wheeled into the same recovery room, which was probably Laura's doing. She was an attorney and very persuasive. Also, she tended to use threaten to set off a search for asbestos anywhere she wasn't getting her way. As a corporate prosecutor, she looked like she could make it happen.

"Hey," Peter rasped to Stiles once their beds were side by side. His throat was wrecked from screaming. Sometimes he really wished painkillers worked on him. Stupid, stupid but thankfully functional uterus.

Stiles looked how he felt; totally worn out, but he'd go through it again for the softly cooing bundle of joy in his arms. The baby was wrapped in a blue blanket--a little boy--and had a little beanie covered in ducklings on his head. Stiles grinned in his direction, definitely drunk with the rush of endorphins post-birth. "Hey," he mumbled back.

The Hales came in first, filling the room with the smell of the forest and pack. Cora was the first on the bed, sitting next to Peter's hips and looming over the sleeping pup nestled against Peter's chest. She moved the pink blanket aside just enough to look at the baby's face. "A girl?" she asked, and her lip wibbled when Peter nodded his head. "Hell yeah, welcome to the matriarchy, little lady."

Talia let out a laugh before she bodily lifted her daughter off the bed and took her place. She looked down at the little girl, a smile spreading across her face. "She's gorgeous, baby brother," she said, and Peter had to fight the urge to shed many, many tears. Maybe he was feeling a little drunk on oxytocin too.

"Ah, excuse me," came the voice of a certain ex-Sheriff as he skirted past the Hales and into view.

"Hey, daddy-o," Stiles said, smiling lopsidedly at the man.

"Hey, bud," John Stilinski said, going to his son's side. He was holding a vase of flowers and a little teddy bear. He set them on the table next to Stiles, the one with an ice water jug and crackers. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I just pushed out a small human," Stiles said, chuckling.

"Why didn't we bring flowers?" Peter heard Derek quietly ask.

"Because flowers are stupid," Laura replied in a whisper. "They die, and you're left with an empty vase. What do you do with an empty vase but put more flowers in it? Then those flowers die. It's a cycle, and it's bad."

Derek seemed to take a moment to contemplate this. "Why didn't we bring a bear?"

There was a shuffle. "There's a gift shop, let's go real fast."

"Okay," Derek hissed after her.

Peter rolled his eyes to himself. 

"It's nice to see you, John," Ezio, Talia's mate and Peter's brother-in-law, said, going over to shake the man's hand. "How are you? How is your back?"

"Better," John said with a smile. "Thanks for the mattress recommendation and getting me a good deal."

"It's not a problem," Ezio said with a slightly flustered wave of his hand.

"Did you like the vegetarian lasagna I sent over the other day?" Talia asked, walking around Peter's bed to go join them. "The spices were from my own garden, you know."

"Really? It was delicious. Where did you get the wheat pasta? It's the first I've had that didn't taste like glue."

"I made them," Talia said, and she set her hands on her cheeks when John gasped.

"No wonder they were so good."

Stiles slowly turned his head, and Peter easily read his lips as they mouthed, "Save me."

Peter grinned and held out his hand. Stiles reached over. Their fingers tried for purchase, but they were just a bit out of reach. The others finally noticed them straining to touch because Ezio went to Stiles's side, and Cora was on Peters. Suddenly they were gliding closer together, locking hands as the beds were pushed side by side.

Peter had to laugh, and Stiles gave his own watery one back. Fingers laced as they were, Peter was able to kiss the back of Stiles's hand. "You look beautiful," he murmured, and Stiles let out a snort. 

"Please," Stiles said. "After fourteen hours of labor, nobody looks cute. I'm sweaty and gross."

Eyes widening, Peter couldn't help but ask with a horrified exhale, "Fourteen hours?"

Stiles squinted at him. "Yes. How long was yours?"

"A little... less," Peter said, wishing for a subject change. Werewolves had short labors. His had been forty-five minutes.

Thankfully, that was when Laura and Derek popped back into the room. "They didn't have any bears," Derek said, looking apologetic.

"We got you a t-rex," Laura said, and she wasn't apologetic at all. She apparently thought the stuffed, neon green monstrosity in her arms with its eyes going in separate directions was superior to any ordinary bear.

"I love it," Peter said, laughing a little at its stupid face. It was perfect.

"So, kiddo," John said, swiping his hand through Stiles's sweaty hair. "Got a name for your little guy?"

Stiles looked down at the sleeping baby, chubby-cheeked and still a little blotchy. Peter thought he was stunning at that moment, so reverent as he gazed upon a perfect little creature he made all by himself.

"Yeah," Stiles finally breathed, before he looked up at his father. "Johnathan." 

Seeing an old man cry shouldn't have been so endearing, but watching John blubber over his son and grandson and kiss them both made Peter's chest feel tight. He looked down at his own little pup, the way her hand was lightly clasping at the front of his hospital gown. He had a feeling she'd make him cry too.

"What about you, Uncle Peter?" Cora asked, and he turned his eyes up to her. "A name?"

"Hm, a name," Peter said, looking back down at her. He had been thinking about names ever since he got the news that he was pregnant. He'd wanted something classic, something that would give her a reputation she could chase and live up to. But now, one name stuck in his head. It was different, a little strange. It was beautiful still. Maybe she would hate him for it, but it wouldn't be entirely his fault. 

"Freya," he finally said, turning his gaze to Stiles, who was staring at him in disbelief. "Because she's yours too."

Stiles's eyes got wider, then wetter, then they poured forth like waterfalls. He hiccuped, trying to say something about hormones, but he just hugged Peter, and Peter held him back, careful of the IV in Stiles's arm. He heard the shutter of a camera, and when he looked up, Laura quickly hid her phone behind her back.

He couldn't blame her. He also wanted copies.

When visiting hours were over, a nurse that would not be told no bullied everyone out the room. She went around, dimming the lights and making sure they had plenty of water and crackers. "Sleep well," she said in the doorway.

"Thanks, Melissa," Stiles called sleepily to her.

She just smiled as she headed out.

"Mm?" Peter questioned vaguely before he yawned.

"My bro's mom," Stiles said, and his eyelids looked heavy, but he managed to keep them open for a little bit. "Thanks for doing this with me."

"I'm afraid you're stuck with me now," Peter warned him. "Wolves mate for life and all that."

"Oh no, whatever will I do?" He closed his eyes and snuggled into the pillow. "I guess I'll just have to live happily ever after."

Peter smiled hard enough that it hurt before he looked down at the babies. They were lying side by side between Stiles and himself, peacefully dead to the world. Peter's fingers were threaded with Stiles's, lying protectively across the two of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't ask me to continue this. It took me four months to write 5400 words, omg.
> 
> Everyone go hug Mys! And also come say hi to me on [Tumblr.](thesushiowl.tumblr.com)


End file.
